Jessup Moran.
Blood pounded in Mac’s ears, remembering the pitiful look on the man’s face as Rylin Tobias had dealt out his own, unique justice. Remembering his last day as a Peacemaker. He’d tried long and hard to forget, but every now and then the name would creep back into his thoughts, and he’d relive that horrible day.
Quickly he brought up Jessup’s arrest record. His official file showed him being transferred to Super Max Prison Station 39 almost immediately after they’d arrested him. Just to settle his doubts, he queried the prison’s records for Moran’s status. The response was not what he was expecting.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘classified’?”
The only information listed in the file was Moran’s personal history sheet and his prison identification number; everything else had been redacted from the official record. There wasn’t a listing for current housing block, and even his transfer records had been heavily edited.
Mac felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His instincts told him Johnny Boss’s arrival on Calista wasn’t a chance thing, and then the radio squeaked to life. “All units, respond Code 3, large disturbance Twelve Gage Laser, all units respond. The gangs are tearing the place apart.”
Mac punched his comms. “Dispatch, do we have any information on the gangs involved?”
“Looks like the Golden Feet Company and the Ogre Fists.”
Mac slammed his hand on the flyer’s controls, pushing its engines to maximum.
* * * * *
Chapter Four
“And no one has any idea why the fight started?” Mac asked.
He stood near the entrance to Twelve Gage Laser, looking over the wreckage strewn across the street.
Marshal Collins shook her head. “None. A few of the patrons thought it was some old rivalry, but they couldn’t be specific on anything. Hell, no one has any idea who actually started the fight.”
A medic team rolled a wounded man out of the bar to a waiting air ambulance, the bandage around his head stained red.
“How many injured?”
“Seven, but that’s only those who couldn’t leave on their own before we got here. There could be more.”
“And none from the merc crews?”
“Bastards started a fire and just let it burn,” Collins said. “I feel bad for the owner.” She nodded to a short, balding man, working on putting his front door back in its frame.
“Any one talk to him yet?”
“Hystad did, for what it’s worth.”
Mac raised an eyebrow.
“He’s not the hottest laser in the box. But his surveillance system is top notch.”
“Good.”
Mac introduced himself to the bartender, who eagerly led him inside, all too happy to share his video.
Mac stepped around a broken table, shaking his head. “They sure did a number in here, didn’t they?”
“I don’t know why it always has to be my bar they destroy,” the bartender said, leading Mac into the back office. “Insurance company demanded I upgrade this thing the last time it happened.”
“Impressive,” Mac said.
Four large screens, mounted on one wall, displayed four different angles of the bar. A small control panel rested on a cluttered desk below the monitors. The bartender pulled a chair out and began working the controls. On the screens, the images started rewinding.
“Bastards just started going at it. Usually I have time to kick them all out before it gets too carried away, but this time…here, see.”
On the screen, Johnny Boss stepped into the bar, accompanied by his gang. They paused just inside the door, as if they were looking for something, discussing something.
“Can we hear what they’re saying?”
“Sorry, not wired for sound.”
On the screen a tall, one-eyed albino, stepped up to Boss and said something. Almost immediately, Johnny’s second in charge lashed out, punching him in the face. The fight was on. It sprawled across all four screens, growing as more and more people joined the melee.
Mac frowned, keeping his attention on Boss. The merc didn’t seem to be paying attention to the fighting, instead, he pushed and shoved his way through the melee, making his way to the back of the bar. He disappeared into the back and vanished from the screens.
“Do you have shots of the back?”
The bartender shook his head. “No one’s allowed back there.”
Mac held back a curse as the fighting spilled out of the bar’s front doors and into the street.
“But I do have a couple cameras in the back.”
“Show me.”
The bartender tapped a button and the view in the top two monitors changed to one of the bar’s rear entrance and the alley. Two figures, Boss and his second, were chasing after a third. The second leaped and tackled the fleeing man, then rained down blow after blow to his victim’s face. A moment later Boss caught up to them and jerked his second off the man. For a brief instant, the third man’s face was visible, highlighted by the streetlights above.
“Freeze that,” Mac said, his blood running cold. “It can’t be.”
Jessup Moran stared up at his attacker, his face frozen in terror.
“That’s impossible.”
* * * * *
Chapter Five
Rylin Tobias concentrated on the small bits of sediment floating in what remained of his tea, trying to clear his thoughts. There had to be a way to pawn off the recruit on someone else this time. Back-to-back recruit training hadn’t been done before, as far as Tobias could remember. Not to mention the cluster-fuck that had happened with his last recruit.
There had to be a way to get out of this shithole. Tobias just needed to find the right leverage. One would’ve thought apprehending a known Peacemaker murderer would have been enough; Regional, however, thought differently.
He finished his tea, not taking his gaze from the view outside his window. To anyone else, the view might have been relaxing, even comforting, but Tobias hated this view. Nemis’ cityscape was yet another reminder of his inability to break through into a regional directorship. The tall towers and busy skyways taunted him, laughed at him, much like the idiot no-loads above him did.
His leverage was out there somewhere, leverage that would give the guild’s leadership no choice but to promote him. Leverage that would make his career. It made no difference where it came from; what mattered to Tobias was how effective the leverage was.
A chime sounded, and a female voice came through unseen speakers. “Peacemaker Tobias, you have a call from a Cindy Fowler.”
Tobias gave the floating holographic image on the desk behind him a sidelong look, frowning. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he had a hard time placing it. Then he remembered.
He sighed, maybe it would take his mind off Regional for a while. “Put her through.”
The recorded image of Cindy Fowler disappeared, replaced by a live image.
“Ms. Fowler.”
“Peacemaker Tobias, listen, I know it’s been awhile, and I know you’re probably still upset with me, but I have to tell you it wasn’t my fault, and there were people after me, and I couldn’t risk coming up for air. It wasn’t my faul—”
“Ms. Fowler, please, let’s just pretend for a minute that I’m not a complete idiot, and you’re not a junked-out whore. I am extremely busy, I took your call as a one-time courtesy, which I’m already regretting, so why don’t you get to the point.”
Fowler stared back at Tobias for a moment, her face a mask of confusion. “I…uh…I…”
“Yes?”
The woman straightened. “Before the trial, you said that if I brought you good information, you would pay for it.”
“Ms. Fowler, that was a long time ago. Besides, I seem to remember you not keeping up your end of the deal.”
“Yeah, I told you, that wasn’t my—”
“Wasn’t your fault, I know.”
Cindy sniffed. “Yeah, well, I’m
sorry about that. But this, what I know, I think it might be worth a lot to you.”
As unlikely as it was for this low-life to be well-informed about anything, Tobias decided to hear her out. “First, let’s hear this so-called valuable information, then we’ll decide how much it’s worth.”
Cindy’s eyes shifted from side to side, as if she was looking for someone. “It’s a fugitive.”
“Runaways and absconders are of no interest to me. They’re barely worth the cost of the transport fees.”
“Even if they’ve escaped from a Super Max and are being hunted by their old mercenary crew?”
The Peacemaker straightened.
Cindy continued. “Rumor has it, this guy killed one of your buddies.”
* * * * *
Chapter Six
“What the hell is an Ogre Fist?” Tonks asked, his tiny holographic image frowning. The projection cast an orange glow around the flyer’s cockpit.
“Hell if I know,” Mac said. “Doesn’t matter; listen, we need to figure out where they went. If we lose them, Moran will disappear for good. We can’t let that happen.”
Tonks looked at something off camera. “Are you sure it was Moran, Mac? I mean, that’s a big deal. Something would have been broadcast by now.”
The thought hit Mac like a freight train. “The wife!”
“What are you talking about, man?”
Mac’s fingers flew across his console. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “That couple arguing at the quarter, Johnny Boss and that woman. How much you want to bet she has connections here? There, Cindy Fowler, divorced from Boss two years ago.” He scrolled through the information, pulse racing. He clapped once. “Told you, Fowler Agriculture.”
Tonks’s furry eyebrows raised expectantly. “You want to grow some plants?”
“A farming operation on the outskirts; the property is still registered to the family. It’s far enough outside the city’s network, they wouldn’t have to worry about any prying eyes.”
“I don’t know, Mac. That’s pretty thin.”
“It’s all we’ve got.”
“But why in the hell would Moran come back here?”
“I don’t know, Tonks.” Mac punched in the heading for the farm.
“Do you want me to call it in?”
“No,” Mac said. “No, we do that, and the Peacemakers’ll be all over it.”
“Well, at least let me come with you.”
Mac shook his head. “No time. Let me figure out what’s going on first. I’ll get back with you.”
“Mac, don’t do anything stupid.”
“You know me.”
“I know, that’s why I’m reminding you.”
He reached the outskirts of the farm 15 minutes later. He flew in low, over what looked like a war zone. Fields all around the main homestead were burning. Craters marred the ground in hundreds of places, smoke still curling into the air from several. Small fires littered the property.
What the hell happened here, Mac wondered, setting the flyer down near the western edge of the farm proper. From the air, he’d only seen one flyer on the grounds, parked next to the large barn on the northeast side of the property.
Well, Mac thought as the flyer’s canopy opened, here goes nothing.
He made his way across the property until he was in sight of the barn and flyer. Standing at the far corner of the farmhouse, Mac began to process the situation. A single guard, probably the pilot, stood with the aircraft. Another guard stood by the partially-open double doors leading into the barn, a sliver of light from inside cutting into the darkness.
It took 10 minutes to make his way around to the backside of the barn. The interior was lit by a line of photostrips hanging from the rafters. Moran sat, bound to a chair, facing away from Mac, toward the front of the barn. Even from behind it was clear the man had received a severe beating.
Two mercenaries stood off to one side, smoking and talking quietly. They gave Moran sidelong looks occasionally, but for the most part ignored the wounded man. One of the mercs, a woman, kept checking a personal slate. The other stamped out a finished smoke, only to immediately light up another.
What are you waiting for? Mac thought.
For a moment, Mac considered waiting for Tonks, but no. There was no telling how long the mercenaries would stay here. No telling how long before they decided to finish off Moran.
Mac centered himself on the small door, took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, then lunged forward, slamming his boot into the door. It smashed open, swinging aside in a cloud of dust and splinters. He rolled in, coming up on one knee several feet away from the door, and brought his pistol up.
“Calista Marshals, don’t move!”
The woman’s eyes snapped up from her slate, fixing on Mac.
The smoker turned his head slightly, finding Mac out of the corner of his eye. “The hell?”
“Don’t move,” Mac repeated. “You’re under arrest.”
It happened so fast Mac barely registered the movement.
The woman dropped her slate, letting it fall to the ground at the same time Smoker turned away from her. He cleared his jacket with one hand, drawing a large energy pulser from a holster under his arm in the other. The woman stepped backward, into the shadows of a stall, drawing her own weapon.
“No!” Mac shouted.
Everything slowed to a crawl. Mac squeezed the trigger.
Mac never heard the shot, never felt the recoil, but he did see the woman jerk back as a round took her in the shoulder, spinning her like a top. He got to his feet, already aiming for his next target. Smoker had spun completely around and was bringing his weapon up. The air cracked as the pulser fired.
Dodging behind a stall wall, Mac dropped to a knee as the heat from the energy bolts singed his hair. Smoker fired wildly as he moved down the length of the barn, away from Mac.
Mac stood and fired twice. His first shot missed, the bullet slamming into a post. His second shot hit Smoker’s side, sending him crashing into a stable wall.
Metal creaked at the front of the barn. One of the mercs was pulling the door open, eyes wide in confusion and shock. The merc moved into the barn, obviously trying to comprehend the carnage he saw.
“What in the fuck?”
Mac brought his weapon up. “Calista Marshals, drop the gun!” Even as he said it, Mac knew it was pointless.
“Son of a bitch!” The merc shouted, bringing his pistol around.
Mac fired twice. Both rounds hit center-mass, sending the merc stumbling backwards. His shoulder collided with the still-opening barn door, and he spun backward into the darkness.
Mac kept his weapon trained on the door and moved toward the front of the barn. The pilot was still out there, if he hadn’t just decided to bail and leave the rest of them behind. He took cover behind one of the stable walls and waited.
A second later the pilot appeared, rifle in hand, approaching out of the shadows. He moved cautiously and stopped just before stepping into the light.
“We can make a deal!” the pilot shouted.
“Sure thing,” Mac said. “You drop your gun, and I won’t kill you. Deal?”
A short barrage of rifle fire answered him. The shots tore through the front of the barn, several feet away from Mac. Even so, he flinched and backed away.
“This doesn’t have to go down like this,” Mac said. “We can all go home without unwanted holes. I’m here for Moran, not you.”
“Can’t have him! Besides, we already have the slate, he’s worthless to you now.”
Slate? Mac wondered. What the hell is he talking about? “I don’t care about the slate, keep it. I just want Moran.”
“Sorry, friend, only Boss can make that call. Now, I’m going to count to three, and then I’m going to come in blazing. If you value staying whole, you may want to vacate the premises and forget the name Jessup Moran. One.”
Well, shit, that didn’t work.
“Two.”
“Thr—”
Mac stepped forward, aimed and fired.
The pilot’s foot came an inch off the ground just as Mac’s bullet slammed into the mercenary’s forehead. His head snapped back, the impact sending him sprawling. He landed with a thud and didn’t move.
Mac stepped up to the door, holstering his pistol. “Damn.”
A loud crack echoed through the air, making Mac jump. His head snapped around just in time to see the woman stumbling back into a stable wall, clutching her chest. Then he saw Jessup standing where Smoker had fallen, the mercenary’s pulser in his hand.
Mac put a hand on his pistol, but didn’t draw. Moran didn’t move. After several long moments, his hands fell to his sides, and his pulser dropped to the ground.
“I don’t understand,” Mac said.
“I don’t kill cops, Marshal Sacobi.”
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
“You better start talking,” Mac said, turning sideways to face Moran in the flyer’s cockpit.
The electrocuffs binding Moran’s hands in front of him made it awkward to wipe the blood from his face, but he managed. “I feel like I’ve already been through this once today.”
“Answer me.”
“What are you going to do, shove bamboo under my fingernails? Beat me with a phone book?”
Mac considered the man for a second. “I could just turn you over to the Peacemakers.”
Moran sniffed, but remained silent.
“Let’s start with an easy one; how the hell did you get out of prison?”
“I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but that wasn’t my idea. Johnny and his crew broke me out. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
For a Few Credits More: More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 7) Page 12